


Downtime

by NightsMistress



Category: Blue Beetle (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2013-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-04 11:27:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1080466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightsMistress/pseuds/NightsMistress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After defeating the Reach, Jaime does not learn how to bake cookies, has an all new dislike for clowns and is demoted to his sister's sidekick.  On the upside, Khaji Da demonstrates some useful homemaking skills.</p><p>(Takes place during Blue Beetle #25 (preboot))</p>
            </blockquote>





	Downtime

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sheeana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheeana/gifts).



“So …” Jaime says, looking around at the wreckage that used to be his house. “What do we do now?”

It turns out the answer is pretty simple: Batman has a contingency plan for when people’s houses are destroyed from orbit by invading space fleets. Khaji Da downloads it into his head, a process he now only finds creepy when he thinks about it, and the gist of it is that you go to a particular hotel, the Justice League pay for your rooms for the first few nights, and then they help you find a place to rent until your house is fixed. Nowhere in the plan is what happens if you try to defraud Batman. After a moment, Jaime thinks that is because no one is stupid enough to defraud a man who could appear in your bedroom and watch you sleep, and if they are they deserve what they get.

He expects few hitches. Maybe some tense phone calls, some surreptitious hiding of the Reyes family. He’s pretty sure Khaji Da’s paranoia about an orbital strike from one of Jaime’s enemies is unlikely, if he had any. After all, it’s been done once today, and that would just be _redundant_. Instead, the plan goes flawlessly. He doesn't get long to think about this though. The minute he crosses the threshold, he receives a call from Batman, confirming that his family’s there.

"Yeah," Jaime says. "Are you sure that this is right? We got the right room?"

"You're in the right suite," Batman says. Jaime scans the room looking for surveillance cameras, though he knows that even if there are any he wouldn't be able to see them. It is Batman, after all. He waves vaguely at what he thinks may be either a security camera or a tasteful flower arrangement. Khaji Da tells him that it had shorted out all the cameras before entering the room, which did explain how Batman knew.

“Are you sure our insurance covers this?” He holds off on asking the question he actually wants to ask: how do you even know what my parents’ insurance policy is? He’s pretty sure Batman doesn’t actually understand that other people are entitled to personal privacy. “I’m pretty sure nothing covers ‘alien invasion’.”

“Leave that to our legal team and they’ll take care of it,” Batman says. “They’ll be in touch.”

“Uh,” Jaime says. He’s saved from trying to come up with something more intelligent to say by Batman ending the call. 

“Who was that?” his mother asks, apparently done with staring at the view through the (entirely too large for Khaji Da’s comfort) windows. The assessment of the risk is bizarrely comforting, even if Jaime thinks he would be incredibly impressed if someone were to snipe him from his position on the penultimate floor. He still moves slightly to be further out of range, then drops into a nearby chair.

“Superman,” Jaime says with a shrug, settling into the chair with a sigh. He hates lying like this, especially because Batman is right about how his parents would take it. Batman being right doesn’t make Jaime feel less guilty. Khaji Da offers to nuke whatever makes him feel bad until it goes away, which is sweet in a horrifyingly bloodthirsty way. He passes it up very quickly. "He says that the Justice League lawyers will sort our insurance out."

"That's generous of him," his father says. "Always thought highly of Superman."

"Yeah, he's a swell guy," Jaime says with a shrug, then winces. He is sore in places that he did not even realize he had muscles, and he aches more than he has ever done in his life. Khaji Da can only repair so much damage after being fried by an electric shock, and the two of them are exhausted. He closes his eyes and slouches into the back of the sofa, trying to find a position that is the least uncomfortable. There isn’t one.

“Jaime,” his mother says, and he realizes with a start that this is not the first time she has said his name to get his attention. He forces himself to sit up, noticing that sometime during his nap Milagro had set up next to him, leaning against his side as she fiddles aimlessly with a piece of string and watches the news. Apparently someone used a 3D printer to create a new paw for a dog with the unfortunate name of Megatron and Jaime has slept through all of the current affairs section. He can't say he's disappointed as chances are the current affairs are _him_.

“What, Mom?”

“You can’t sleep out here.”

“I _can_ ,” Jaime says, because he will never be too tired to correct his mother’s grammar. He opens his eyes to his mother staring him down over the top of her glasses, which Jaime learned long ago means she’s not taking any attitude today. "Fine," he agrees on a yawn. 

"Shower first," she adds as he stands up. "You don't want to ruin these nice sheets."

"Thanks, Mom," Jaime says, rolling his eyes. He has to admit though that the shower does sound pretty great. The armor means that Jaime never really gets sweaty, and it has already cannibalized the blood from where Khaji Da was ripped from his back, but he did run around an alien space ship naked. It’s the principle of the matter.

"And Milagro, bed for you too."

" _Mom_ ," Milagro complains. "Can't I stay up a little longer?"

"No," their mother says. "Jaime's going to bed, so you're going to bed."

Jaime is skeptical that this will work, no matter what his mom thinks. He’s sure they’re entering tantrum territory, and its a surprise when she just nods and pushes herself to her feet. Khaji Da tells Jaime that she's just tired, which surprised Jaime only because Jaime hadn't asked; Khaji Da had offered that information up on its own.

He thinks about this in the shower and decides that it’s another step on Khaji Da’s path towards not being an omnicidal death machine. It's a fairly sophisticated thought to have while your hair is full of shampoo, and Jaime is not sure that it will stand up to the light of day. Still, Khaji Da seems pleased with the realization. It’s good enough for Jaime, anyway, who decides he can consider it much, much later. Khaji Da promises not to wake him until it's mid-morning or if something comes up that urgently requires his attention.

Jaime is pretty annoyed when he’s woken up an hour later.

"What?" he says aloud, squinting. Khaji Da says that Milagro is just outside the door and that she's distressed. A moment later, Milagro launchesherself at his bed. Jaime grunts on the impact, but shuffles across so that she has space to sit down.

She clings to him, and she's saying something but she's crying too hard for him to understand, at least at first.

"I had a bad dream," she says to his chest while he smooths her hair. "I had to make sure you were still here."

"Where would I go?" Jaime says.

"Where you went last time," Milagro says.

Jaime doesn't know what to say to this. He had known that going to fight the Reach armada was something that he might not return from, and he knows that he didn't have an alternative. He doesn't think he can explain this to Milagro, even if he wanted to. Instead he smooths Milagro's hair while her sobs settle into hiccups, and then to the occasional sniffle. She's still clinging to him desperately, and makes an unhappy noise in the back of her throat when he tries to pry a hand off. 

"Can't I stay here?" she says.

"Only until you fall asleep."

"Then I won't fall asleep," she says. 

Jaime laughs at this. "Sure you won't."

"I won't," she says mulishly, though the effect is ruined by the yawn.

"Uh huh," Jaime says. He can't help but smile wryly, as it's the exact thing that Milagro used to say when she was very small. It didn't take long for her to fall asleep after announcing that she wouldn't. "Scarab says you will."

"Won't," Milagro says on a sigh. She doesn't say anything more.

Jaime gives it five more minutes, just to be sure, then takes her back to her room.

*

“So,” Jaime says.

“Yeah?” Traci says. The reception is poor where she is, apparently somewhere in Moldova, and her video link keeps dropping in and out. Still, Jaime knows her well enough to know that when her voice lilts like that at the end, her eyebrows are raised and her head is tilted quizzically. “What’s _really_ on your mind? Because somehow I doubt you’re really that interested in the secret necromantic tradition.”

Jaime sighs. “That obvious?”

“Yep,” Traci says, but judging by how lightly she says it, she doesn’t seem to be offended. “I’ll just remember it for next time.”

“You’re the best,” Jaime says.

“Better believe it,” Traci says with a cheeky hand gesture that, though partially cut off by the edge of her webcam, is still clearly recognizable. “So what’s up?”

“Is there something I’m supposed to do?”

Traci raises an eyebrow. “Generally or specifically? ‘Cause generally sounds like a philosophy issue and I am allergic to that.”

“Yeah, that sounded wrong,” Jaime says with a wince. “I mean more … I’ve dealt with the Reach. Now what? It just feels like I should be doing something.”

“Not really,” Traci says. “I mean, I gave up the whole masked superhero thing … not that I wore a mask in the first place. Or really much of anything. You’d be surprised how distracting that is.”

“Not really,” Jaime says, rubbing the back of his head. “ I think I wore less than you, this time.”

“Touchè,” Traci says with a laugh. “But there really isn’t anything. Knock back, spend some time with your family. Bake biscuits with your sister — but if she does put you in a dress like she promised, I need pictures.”

“Cookies.” Jaime decides _very_ quickly not to question why Traci and Milagro are conspiring to put him in a dress. It’s one of those things that are best left undisturbed. At least Brenda isn’t involved, because then it definitely would happen.

“I’m being British today,” Traci says. “Dad complained that I was losing my accent. But I’m serious about the cookies. _Damn_.”

“You’ve joined the collective,” Jaime says. “Soon you’ll spell things properly.”

“Never,” Traci says in tones of mock horror. “You can take my liberty, but you’ll never take my vowels away.”

“You say that, but I know you want to spell ‘labor’ without the u.”

“Only if I don’t have to do the labor,” Traci says. The visual drops out for a second, and when it returns, Traci is looking at something off screen. “Aw man, I have to go. The liches are trying to get at the internet again.”

“Bad?”

“Their taste in movies? I’d rather die than watch them, and that’s not something I say lightly around the shambling undead. Later, hon.”

Jaime stares at Skype for a moment, then starts putting up cookie recipes on tabs in his browser. How hard could it be to bake cookies?

*

Apparently it is very hard to bake cookies.

For all of Khaji Da’s many, many skills, it cannot assist Jaime with baking or cooking because, as it tells him, it has absolutely nothing to do with killing people in extremely effective ways. This isn’t usually a problem as Jaime has managed to master the fine culinary art of putting noodles in boiling water for two minutes without the aid of a homicidal AI. Today is different.

 _I could have done that,_ Khaji Da says, as they surveyed the charcoal mess on the baking tray. _And faster as well._

“I think they’re done,” Jaime says, making a face. Maybe using parchment paper would have been a good idea; there is no way the cookies are getting off the tray now.

“Why didn’t we just buy cookies like I wanted,” Milagro says with a martyred sigh. “Dad’s much better at baking cookies then you are.”

“Yeah,” Jaime says. “Even Mom’s aren’t this bad.”

“She’s okay,” Milagro says. “She got better.”

“She did?” Jaime says, blinking in surprise.

“Yeah,” Milagro says, poking at the wreckage with her finger, hissing, and then sticking her burned finger into her mouth. “She used to do it a lot. Before.”

Jaime doesn’t need to ask what Milagro means by ‘before’. There’s only one 'before’ in the Reyes family.

Impulsively, he hugs Milagro. 

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“I know it’s not your fault,” Milagro says, hugging back with her free hand. “But next time you have to take me with you. I’ll save you. Like Mr Gardner!”

“You are not getting a Green Lantern ring,” Jaime says, falling into an easy and familiar pattern. “You are forbidden until you are at least fifty. And then you’ll be too old.”

“You can’t stop me,” Milagro says. “You can’t even bake cookies right.”

“I’m pretty sure you don’t need to be able to bake cookies to be a superhero,” Jaime says, breaking the hug so that Milagro can see his skeptical expression. “Can you imagine Batman baking?”

“Yes,” Milagro says, and giggles. Jaime cracks a smile despite his best efforts. It is a pretty hilarious mental picture, now that he thinks about it.

“I bet Superman is better,” Jaime says, and Milagro giggles harder. “It’s right there in the name. _Super_ man.”

“You’re such a dork,” Milagro says.

“You’re worse,” Jaime says. “Come on, let’s clean this up and buy more cookies. Store cookies.”

They decide very quickly that ‘cleaning up’ in this case means ‘throwing out the baking tray in the hope that their parents never find out the truth’. This doesn’t work, because Jaime’s mother is a bloodhound. Jaime is then given a very mild lecture about how to not render his family’s few remaining pieces of kitchen equipment completely useless. It’s tempered by the fact that his parents are, truly, appreciative that Jaime is spending time with his sister, even if they do wish that he would stop ruining everything they own, and also learn to bake.

*

A few days later, over lunch, Paco asks him what his plans are. Jaime shrugs.

“I don’t know,” he says. “Thought about trying to catch up with Traci. Let her know that her idea sucked and we need a plan that isn’t baking. Maybe do a cooking class so my mom stops teasing me about how I’ll be a bad house husband.” He then frowns at the buzz inside his skull that signals someone is calling him.

“Uh, this is my mom,” Jaime says to Paco, pressing his finger to his temple. Khaji Da offers a stress analysis, which is spectacularly unhelpful as apparently his mother does not pose an unusually high level of risk to him. Jaime knows for a fact, however, that the threat Bianca Reyes poses is not one that Khaji Da can measure.

“Yeah, Mom?”

“Jaime?” 

Jaime winces. He knows when his mother says his name in that tone of voice he’s about to be made an offer he really shouldn’t refuse.

“Nope,” Jaime tries.

“Milagro needs a present for Sofia’s birthday party on the weekend, and you owe us a favor for the mess you left in the kitchen,” his mother continues over the top of him.

“Let me guess,” Jaime says. “‘I have homework’ wouldn’t cut it?”

“It shouldn’t take that long,” his mother says. “Oh, and pick up some milk on the way home too.”

“I’ll collect my hazard pay later,” Jaime says. 

“I’m sure you can handle the threat of eggs,” his mother says. “I’m running late for work, but can you pick her up after school?”

“Yeah,” Jaime says. Now that he’s thinking about it, it doesn’t sound too bad. It’s been a while since he was put on present duty, and it’s not that rough a task.

When the call ends, he turns to Paco with a shrug. “Looks like I’m babysitting.”

“You’re going to die,” Paco says. “Eh, Brenda and I’ll write the best eulogy. It’ll be the first church you’ve been in that you haven’t set on fire.”

“Shut up about that,” Jaime says darkly.

“No, I’m serious. We should issue nationwide warnings to every church. DEFCON three: Blue Beetle is in the neighborhood! We can save DEFCON one to for when you’re actually in the church.”

“ _Shut up._ ”

“Maybe you’ll branch out into destroying toy stores next? The Blue Grinch!”

“I really don’t know what Brenda sees in you,” Jaime says, and immediately regrets it as Paco flexes his arms.

“Check it and weep,” Paco says. “These guns are too hot to handle.”

“Which is why I’m not going to,” Jaime says. “Besides, you’re making a big deal about nothing. How bad can toy shopping be? I’ve done it hundreds of times and no one died.”

*

After ten minutes in Toys R Us, Jaime has decided that it is a portal into Hell. He shares this with Milagro who responds by kicking him in the shins and telling him that he needs to stop pretending to be funny and start helping.

“What about a doll?” Jaime says.

Milagro wrinkles her nose. “That’s for little kids,” she says. 

“Oh yeah, because you’re so big right now,” Jaime says.

“I’ll be bigger than you one day and then you’ll be sorry,” Milagro promises.

“Uh huh,” Jaime says, walking her through the action figure aisle. “I’m sure when that day comes I’ll be begging you for mercy.”

“That’s right,” Milagro says. “And then I’ll use my Green Lantern ring to take out all the bad guys.”

“They’re not going to choose you,” Jaime says, and then stops. He stares. “Oh my God.”

Jaime was aware, peripherally, that El Paso was proud of its resident superhero, though that pride was tinged with more than a bit of ‘but we wish he would leave the buildings intact’. Booster Gold mentioned superhero branding a few times and that it was important for Jaime to be in control of it. Jaime had blown it off. Who would make an action figurine of him?

It’s not until Jaime is confronted with a wall of Blue Beetle toys that he thinks that maybe he should have paid more attention. It is, honestly, the creepiest thing he has ever seen.

“Can I have one?” Milagro immediately asks.

“No!” Jaime blurts out. 

“Mom’d let me have one,” she continues.

“Ask her, then! Oh my God, this is terrible. Do I look like that?”

“Kinda,” Milagro says with a shrug. “They’re more smiley than you are.”

“Oh my God,” Jaime says again, and Khaji Da ‘helpfully’ provides a tally for the number of times he’s said that along with suggestions for alternatives. Jaime wishes for a helpful distraction. One does not immediately present itself. It’s honestly a surprise: Jaime’s always been warned that supervillains will strike in the most ridiculous of places. Robin told him about the time the Auditor attacked the tax office simply to avoid paying taxes that year, and ever since then he’s been expecting to be attacked in his civilian life. 

The next aisle is thankfully devoid of Blue Beetle action figures. It is also devoid of any way to distract Milagro from her newly appointed task of teasing Jaime about his newfound fame.

They’re moving onto the fourth aisle, Jaime convinced that no present would meet Milagro’s exacting standards, when the PA system crackles and then it’s announced that the store is being held hostage by the El Paso Evil Clown Association until they get access to the store’s cashroom or a remake of The Dark is Rising movie. Judging by the muffled profanity that Jaime can hear in the background, the last one was not part of the plan. He understands though. The movie was pretty terrible.

Clowns are not one of Jaime’s favorite things. There had been a terrible birthday party, and honestly he doesn’t even want to think about it. Hanging out with Batman means that when a clown appears in his line of vision, he instinctively pulls Milagro to the side and gets out of view. He squeezes her hand. She squeezes it back.

“Hey,” he says. “I need you to stay here while I take care of this.”

Milagro sets her jaw. “I can help.”

“No,” Jaime says, his voice sharper than he means. He takes a breath to try and calm himself, and then a few more. “I need you to stay _here_.”

She studies him for a minute, then rolls her eyes. “Fine. But the Green Lanterns would let me help.”

“Just stay there,” Jaime hisses. “And close your eyes, I’m putting the armor on.”

“Ick,” Milagro says and crawls behind the display of dolls until she’s out of sight. Jaime is already putting the armor on, gritting his teeth at the hot, alien heat that encases his skin for a second before it fades away. It doesn’t hurt as much anymore, but it still feels incredibly uncomfortable.

“What have they got?” he asks aloud, getting airborne. For some reason, clown music is playing over the speakers. 

_Electromagnetic weapons = risk low._ There’s a pause and then, _Reassessing, electrified weapon = risk medium._

“What?” Jaime says, and then does a barrel roll as an electrified cannon ball is lobbed at him. It demolishes a nearby display of Supergirl, and Jaime hopes that Kara never finds out. “At least you’re dedicated to your uh, theme? Is this a theme? Because it sucks.” 

It takes several moments for the next electrified cannon ball to be thrown at him and the aim is even worse this time. Jaime watches its arc and makes a face as it wrecks another display.

“Oookay,” he says. “We should stop this before they ruin Christmas. Any ideas?”

_Solution: emit electromagnetic pulse. Consequence: weapons explode._

“Oh come on, you know I’m not going to say yes to that.”

_Amended solution: emit electromagnetic pulse while shielding Milagro Reyes._

“That’s not much better!”

Khaji Da snickers, and Jaime realizes he’s been had.

“So _now_ you develop a sense of humor. _Aces_.”

_Negative. Always had one. Solution: subdue with non-lethal force._

“Let’s do it.”

The next few minutes resemble a first person shooter: Jaime zooms around the aisles, avoiding the electrical cannonballs from the clowns before aiming his own weapon and firing. The plan is to steer them away from people and towards a place where he can knock them out. It’s harder han he thought; there’s a lot of people around, a lot of kids, and he does his best to shield kids from what he does.

 _Ineffective,_ Khaji Da comments as Jaime drops a ghost costume onto one child, before sniping a clown on the back of the neck with his weapon. The clown drops. _Efficiency drop: 15%_

“That’s not the point,” Jaime says, sparing a moment to roll his eyes. They’ve fallen into an easy rhythm of shoot and banter, which means that Jaime doesn’t pay as much attention as he should. He doesn’t get any warning before Khaji Da seizes control of his hand, points and shoots to the side. Jaime swears, his heart rate spiking at the sudden manipulation, and he jerks his hand back in place more forcefully than he needs to.

His brain catches up a second later. One of the clowns had almost reached Milagro, and Khaji Da had sniped him. 

Jaime maintains a grim composure after that, taking care of the rest of the clowns in a tight-lipped silence. The police come shortly afterward and ask him questions that he doesn’t want to answer, so he slips away when they aren’t watching, changes back and takes Milagro home. She holds onto his hand tightly, her other hand clutching the Blue Beetle action figurine that she had held onto during the fight. The staff at the store had just waved them through when he had tried to pay for it, and she seems to think it was a great adventure.

Jaime doesn’t. He failed and he knows it. He thinks about the ways that he could have done it differently while Milagro tells his parents about how Jaime saved her from clowns, and gives one word answers when he’s asked questions. The thought of what might have happened consumes all of his attention, which is why he’s taken by surprise when Khaji Da notices and then comments that his father had been watching him. He notices after that that the television isn’t turned on, and he’s allocated more of the linen folding than usual to keep his hands busy. 

“Jaime,” his father says once Milagro goes to bed. “What really happened?”

At first, Jaime isn’t sure that he wants to tell his father, but he starts talking anyway; about the clowns, the solutions, the fact that Milagro was in danger. It all spills out. It feels better to say it aloud, even if he’s really saying it to his hands held tightly in his lap.

When Jaime finishes, there’s a moment of silence. Jaime can’t bear to look up.

“The two of you did well,” his father says finally.

“One of us did,” Jaime mutters.

“No,” his father says. It’s mild, but there’s a hint of steel underneath it, and Jaime remembers that this is the man who stared down La Dama with nothing more than force of personality. “I remember what it was like when you first came back to us. What it was like. It’s changed, and I recognize my son in it.”

“Yeah, but —”

His father shakes his head. “It saved her because you taught it these things. Right?”

Jaime looks up, studying his father’s face for a moment before nodding. “...yeah, I guess.”

His father smiles. “You raised it well, son.”

“You make it sound like it's my kid.”

“Isn’t it?”

Jaime blinks, flummoxed. To make matters worse, Khaji Da seems to be partially in agreement with his father. Khaji Da isn’t his child, but it’s drawing parallels Jaime can’t quite understand.

“What’s its name?”

“Khaji Da.”

“Thank you for saving my daughter, Khaji Da.”

Khaji Da preens under the praise, and Jaime cracks a smile despite himself. “It likes being told good things about itself. Reminds me of Milagro, really.”

“I’m not surprised,” his father says. “Speaking of, can you check that her light’s off?”

When Jaime goes in to turn off the light in Milagro’s room, the Blue Beetle action figurine is tucked under her arm. Khaji Da seems very pleased with the sight, and it takes Jaime a moment to understand why. Blue Beetle is more than just Jaime Reyes: it’s Jaime and Khaji Da together. Today it was Khaji Da saving someone who, Jaime realizes, it sees more like a sibling than a less threatening target than usual. 

“Night, Milagro,” Jaime says, turning the light off. The sentiment is echoed by Khaji Da.

*

“Good work on the toy store,” Brenda says the next time Jaime sees her.

“Shut up,” Jaime says, rolling his eyes.

“If I’d been there they wouldn’t have attacked. I broke a _planet_.”

“You were also rescued by a guy whose forehead is made of justice.”

“Minor details,” Brenda says, dismissing Jaime’s comment with a wave of her hand. “What’s important is that that planet stayed _broken_.”

“You are way too proud of that,” Jaime says while shaking his head. “Most people would be a little bit ashamed.”

“I’m one of a kind,” Brenda says. “How’s Milagro, anyway?”

Jaime shrugs. Milagro still thinks of the clown attack on Toys R Us as an adventure, and she has recast her involvement accordingly. “Okay. Apparently the day was saved by Pink Ladybug and her sidekick Blue Beetle.”

“Aw,” Brenda says. “She’s already resisting the oppressive patriarchal yoke.”

“She’s eight,” Jaime says. “Also she wants me to make her a costume.”

“Oh my God,” Brenda snorts. “Remember you in Home Ec? Didn’t you sew your fingers to the shorts we had to make?”

“I sewed my _shirt_ to them,” Jaime says.

“Oh right,” Brenda says. “You also set fire to them.”

“That was an accident!”

“ _And_ you almost set the home ec kitchen on fire.”

“Also an accident!” In retrospect, all the signs had been there for Jaime’s cookie debacle.

“Anyway,” Brenda says. “A costume. I’ll see if I can make Paco do it.”

“Paco can sew?”

“Paco will learn to sew,” Brenda says. “If he knows what is good for him.”

*

The costume is a hideous creation of pink glitter, tulle and a cape.

Milagro adores it.

*

Finally, the house is finished, with a bit of help from Wayne Industries donates furniture to all the affected families in the El Paso area as some kind of humanitarian gesture. There’s probably some kind of tax break for that, Jaime assumes. Fortunately, the Reyes family isn’t expected to meet Bruce Wayne to collect it. Mr Wayne probably wouldn’t recognize him as the superhero that blackmailed him into doing good that one time, but Jaime isn’t taking any chances.

While his parents are away making arrangements to collect the furniture from a highly secretive warehouse that Jaime had no idea had existed until that morning, Jaime is tasked with looking after Milagro. He tried to protest this on the grounds that every other time he’s been left with her lately, something terrible has happened. It didn’t work, and something terrible is happening: Milagro has spent the last two hours convincing him to take her flying, claiming that her new costume needs to be broken in.

It’s not as dangerous as it sounds. Khaji Da assures him that she’ll be reasonably safe. That doesn’t mean he wants his parents to find out.

“All right,” Jaime says. “But you can’t tell Mom and Dad.”

“I won’t,” Milagro promises far too quickly.

“I mean it,” Jaime says. “They’ll never let you go up with me again.

“I _won’t_ ,” Milagro insists. “Take me up already!”

"You know what?" Jaime says, trying not to grin. "Demanding makes the scarab sad. So sad that it doesn't want to fly."

"You promised," Milagro says. "I cleaned my room and _everything_."

"You're supposed to do that anyway so we can put the furniture in," Jaime points out and Milagro scowls harder. "But maybe the scarab will be nice to you. Scarab? What do you say?"

_Recording for future use in negotiations. Agree to fly with Milagro Reyes-passenger._

"It said yes," Jaime says, making a mental note to find out what negotiations Khaji Da is talking about, preferably before it causes an interstellar incident. He can’t imagine a situation where Khaji Da would be negotiating anything unless it was negotiating with Jaime whether it can annihilate something. He especially can’t imagine one where Jaime’s teasing his sister would help at all.

"Yay!" Milagro says, jumping into the air. "I knew one of you was nice!"

Khaji Da snickers at this. _Your deceptions are ineffective._

"I should have left you in the parking lot," Jaime says under his breath, rolling his eyes. "Or sold you on eBay. Get on with it already.”

He closes his eyes as the armor encases him. It doesn’t alarm him now how easy it is for him to adjust. Before, the realization might have disturbed him. Now it just simply is.

“Ready?” he says, and Milagro nods, lifting her arms. He picks her up, and cradles her to his chest, before letting the boosters thrust them into the sky. Milago shrieks with joy and he’s fairly sure she wants to go faster. He doesn’t. It would really suck if he dropped her, especially at this height.

They hover, and El Paso hangs like a mosaic below them. Milagro squirms until Jaime adjusts his grip so that she can see and so that he isn’t about to drop his sister a few thousand feet to the ground. 

_Probably: zero. Would intervene._

“Thanks. I think,” Jaime says, and Milagro makes a face.

“Stop talking about me,” she complains. “I bet _Mr Gardner_ wouldn’t talk about me.”

“I bet you he would, and not everything is about you,” Jaime says. “Shh. Look at the view.”

“I can see my school from here,” Milagro says, pointing. 

Jaime follows her gaze, then smiles gently. “Other direction, sis.”

“I knew that,” she says, turning her head to the correct direction. “I was just testing you.”

“Course you were. Did I pass?”

“Only by a little.”

They stay there for a few more minutes, when Khaji Da tells Jaime that his parents are returning home. Jaime sets them down and removes the armor.

“Aw, I wanted to stay up there a little longer,” Milagro says. Jaime musses her hair.

“Do you really wanna explain to mom and dad why we were like five thousand feet in the air?”

“No.”

“Now go set up in your room like we’ve been here the whole time.”

Milagro races off and when Jaime checks in on her a few minutes later, she’s settled in to playing what looks to be an elaborate reenactment of her last day at school using whatever toys she has on hand. She and Jaime exchange smiles, and even Khaji Da is amused at the deception.

“You should pretend to do something too,” she says. Jaime shrugs, and settles into the family room with one of his textbooks. He is halfway through the third problem when his parents get home. They arrive with a delivery truck following behind them and Jaime is sure that his parents have made a terrible decision. He is also bizarrely disappointed that of all stores to use secret warehouses, it had to be this one.

“Mom,” he says on a sigh. “How could you? You could have gone shopping _anywhere_ , that’s why online shopping exists. Did you get lured in by their Swedish meatballs again?”

“It’s the sauce,” his mother says as the Ikea delivery team unload flatpacks into various empty rooms. “Besides, it will be a good family bonding experience.”

“Is that before or after we start crying and looking up instructions on YouTube?” Jaime asks, and ducks a tea towel thrown at his head.

“Go be useful and make your bed.”

Jaime grins and heads into his room, where he tears away the cardboard, locates the bag full of screws, dowels and the allen key, and then mentally pencils in a few hours in his internal schedule for bitter cursing at the instructions. He is surprised when Khaji Da is extremely puzzled at this.

“What’s up?” he says aloud.

_Khaji Da|skill > challenge._

“What?” Jaime says in spite of himself, and smiles ruefully as Khaji Da expresses its displeasure at his skepticism. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to doubt you. It’s just that Ikea is one of the great trials of humanity. _No-one_ can build these things first time.”

_Khaji Da|Skill > Jaime Reyes|Skill._

Jaime concedes the point with a nod. “Want to tell me how it’s done?”

_Negative. Efficiency higher for Khaji Da._

Jaime takes a moment to think about this. Normally, Jaime is the one in charge with Khaji Da in the background whispering advice in his mental ear. It’s safer that way, as Khaji Da is still learning about the tactical use of force. However, since they stormed the Reach flotilla, Jaime’s been aware that Khaji Da _wants_ to be useful. It wants Jaime’s approval and when it’s given, it works harder. The one time it did seize control, it was to save Milagro, and it stuck to the mission parameters while doing so. Right now it’s all but vibrating with the need to do something _good_ , something that Jaime would approve of and praise it for.

“Yeah, okay,” he says. “Show me how it’s done.” 

He closes his eyes, and then experiences the unsettling experience of having them open without his will behind it. His hands move independent of his thoughts, driving dowel into plywood and tightening screws with allen keys with a speed that he knows he couldn’t replicate. If he had to describe it to anyone, which he plans not to, it’s a lot like the time that someone had remote access to his computer to fix an IT problem. The mouse would move and programs would fly up on the screen and Jaime had no control over it.

The bed is assembled in a matter of minutes.

Jaime blinks, then realizes that he was the one who blinked. He lets out a breath.

“You did good,” he says, realizing that the anxiety that caused his stomach to flip over unpleasantly didn’t belong to him. The anxiety eases immediately, which is kind of nice. It’s also kind of terrifying. He supposes that’s what it’s like for his own parents when dealing with his being a superhero. 

“Jaime!” Milagro wails from her room. “Can you make my bed for me?”

“What do you say?” Jaime asks aloud. “Want to help out?”

“Jaime, are you talking to your imaginary friend?”

 _Affirmative_ , Khaji Da says a moment later, and Jaime makes a face. 

“Thanks for having my back,” he mutters.

Khaji Da laughs. _Prerogative: affectionate mockery of Jaime Reyes. Ally: Milagro Reyes._

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Jaime says, rolling his eyes before getting up. “I’ll get my own one day.”

_Probability: Close to zero._

“You’d better watch it,” Jaime says. “I’m pretty good at defeating the odds.”

There’s a moment of silence, then Khaji Da agrees.


End file.
